Hello~I don't even ship these two idk what you talkin about...

This (I think) is going to be a two-shot or a short story. Hope you enjoy.

At twelve AM, Danny is warm and tired under the covers, yet very much awake. His head will not quieten down, like a constant conversation going on through the thin walls of the next room he can't ignore. His chest rises and falls with his breath, as does the larger one he is currently half-lying on.

He has a dilemma, one that has been built upon for a long time now, and has been pushed under the carpet with a great effort for longer. The carpet can't fit much more underneath it. Now it has him stressed and awake at midnight, lying on half of the problem and cursing himself for being a perfect fit.

But it isn't Dash's fault. It's his, all his.

As most people do when faced with a problem, Danny tries to find the beginning. Perhaps, for Danny, this started with what he would call the first real conversation he ever had with Dash. It wasn't in middle school when they first butted heads, no, this conversation was just last year.

'Did you know he likes to draw?' Danny had told Sam and Tucker the next day at school, inexcusably exited. And why had he been so exited? Danny still wonders. Maybe it was the initial amazement, the shock. He had never thought of Dash as anything more than the bully in school to be avoided at all costs until the unexpected conversation the night before. Sam and Tucker had wondered at the time; the not so subtle looks they were sending each other were clue enough. But Danny kept going, 'And he is actually pretty good. He even had a cute comic.'

'Wow,' Tucker had said, 'Did you just call something Dash did cute?' He quirked a smile, amused.

Not too much later, Danny was greeted by Dash in the form of being shoved into his own locker, and his goodbye was the obnoxious laughter left behind as he walked away. Danny was angry, and sorely embarrassed at his own words just that morning. Sam and Tucker said nothing. It was a reminder that Dash hadn't talked to Danny last night, he had merely talked with Phantom.

Danny stares as he thinks, eyes tired but refusing to close, and looks at the white hair with a faint glow in front of his face. The other half of the problem.

Danny hadn't tried to get close to Dash. After the first conversation, one that started with Dash wanting to thank the town hero (something Danny was also shocked by), he was convinced that would also be the last. He had wanted it to be. Dash, however, seemed to have had other ideas. The first turned into the second time their paths crossed, and when Dash realised Danny wasn't in a great mood to talk, the third time he came armed with new drawings for him to keep. Yeah, he still has them.

Maybe this was the real start. The curiosity. The bewilderment. Dash acted so different. He was always shy when presenting his work, a quirk Danny never thought would fit the football star. Danny smiles as he remembers how panicked he was when he had first opened his drawing book. The guy was sweating. Not only that, he talked about himself a lot less. He never yelled. He generally wanted to hear about Danny's day; a ghost's day. Who does that? And when he did talk about himself, it was in a way Danny wasn't familiar with. Not that he ever did talk to the jock. At all, he realised. But he had assumed a conversation with him wouldn't flow in the least, but the hours past like minutes. He talked about football. A lot. But he did so with a passion Danny didn't mind listening to. He had never invited Danny to a game, however. Danny finds this strange, but he has no right to pry.

This was the start; when Danny wanted to know more about him.

The dilemma itself started with the lies. They were so natural, he didn't even think about it being a problem in the future. The act of being a ghost and a human separately is something he mastered long ago. It was the refusal to let Dash know any more about himself. About the truth. It was a selfish double standard, really.

Danny didn't know things would go this far, or get this complicated. He isn't sure if knowing would have made a difference.

When did Danny start shrugging off the bullying like it was nothing? When did he stop thinking bad of Dash for doing it? His mind was suddenly overwhelmed with the promise of a nicer man, and he imagined all the good times they had together were more of apologies for the bad. It was a nice, warm Band-Aid for the wound. Again. And again. And again.

But Dash doesn't know. It isn't his fault. Danny tries so hard to make sure of it. He puts a blindfold over his eyes, and constantly tightens the knot. He shouldn't be angry at him for not seeing something impossible for him to see.

Now he is lying on a sleeping Dash's chest in a warm double bed, and he knows he has gone too far. He cares for him, and he wants to be with him, but he doesn't want to hide anymore.

They are in a hotel room, because Dash would much rather pay for a room for the night and lie than have his parents find out about this relationship for many reasons. Danny couldn't say anything different or against it; he has been doing it his own family for years.

They have never gone out. Not to a party, not to a bowling alley, not even down the street. They can't, for more reasons than Dash knows. But Danny wants to, so badly, and they could, if Danny was human.

So Danny lies here, wide awake but tired beyond belief, wanting so badly to tell Dash the truth, so they could walk down a street together.

And Danny scoffs at himself, bitter. If Dash would be able to stand to be in the same building with him once he knows.

And does his selfishness ever end? Here he is, finally thinking about telling the truth, and only for himself. He wants to go anywhere with Dash, out in the open, that's it. Not that he could have thought Dash deserves to know something so big about him, about just what he is sleeping with, or who.

The heartbeat under his ear is suddenly slightly faster, and Danny knows Dash is awake. A hand rubs his back once, but it does little to loosen his tense shoulders. There is a drowsy groan before he speaks, "You…still awake, Dan?"

Danny doesn't answer, he doesn't know if he can. His throat is tight from the frustrating argument in his head. He merely tucks himself closer to Dash's form, and that is enough for Dash.

"Hey, you ok?" His voice is drowsy and concerned. Danny feels him shift to see him better. Danny wishes Dash had stayed asleep, so he could think more and do nothing.

"'Mm….fine." And that is the least convincing lie he has ever told. He is too tired, too confused as to what to do.

No, that is the least convincing lie he has ever told. He knows perfectly well what he needs to do, and he dreads it so much he almost feels sick.

"What's the matter?" Dash asks, "Want to talk about it?"

Danny doesn't, he really doesn't. It takes most of his energy to lift his head and look at Dash's face. His de-shelved hair, bright blue, tired eyes still trying to focus. It's still a good look, Danny thinks.

"I…" Danny looks away, "I don't, um, want to. But, I-I have to." He speaks slowly, like walking a plank, preparing to fall.

He can't hide anymore. For himself, for Dash. He can't keep going on like this. His times with Dash are beginning to feel more and more like a lie, like an act. He doesn't know exactly when relaxing turned to stress, or when Dash calling him a ghost brought so much hurt and guilt. He needs for the charade to stop.

But how much he wants to turn invisible right now.

Danny isn't looking at his face anymore, but he can imagine a look of confusion, of concern. He wonders if Dash will ever be concerned about him again.

Danny gets off of Dash's chest and rolls onto his back. Dash shifts to sit up more in bed, and waits.

Danny makes him wait for a while, though. He doesn't know how to start, and he doesn't want to start. The start means the end. He perhaps makes Dash wait too long, because it's him who speaks first.

"Do you want anything from the mini fridge?" He offers offhandedly. Danny would have smiled, if in a better mood, at the gesture. Instead he is both saddened and grateful for the conversation starter.

"I, ah, no thanks, Dash." Danny still avoids his eyes, his face, his direction at all. He decides to start, but slowly, "Have you ever…kept a secret, Dash?"

"You know I have." He answers, and he is right. Danny knows all about his secrets. His stomach drops, and his guilt intensifies.

"I mean, like, a big secret. N-not that any of yours aren't big or important or anything I just," Danny stops himself, and takes a moment to put a hand over his face and just calm down.

"Hey," Dash says softly, and puts a hand on Danny's shoulder. "What's this about all of a sudden?"

"I," Danny takes a shaky breath, "I have been keeping a secret from you." He says, and feels his throat grow tighter, dryer, as if begging him to stop while he's ahead, "And I, I can't, anymore…"

Danny doesn't move, the hand stays over his face, and Dash doesn't either. Danny tells himself he is waiting for a reaction, and not using it as an excuse to draw this out. He takes a peek at the hotel door.

"…Oh," Dash says. He doesn't sound angry, Danny notes. He sounds surprised, and still a bit drowsy. "Well, I mean, that's ok. Everyone has secrets, I guess."

Danny half shakes his head at that, at how much Dash sounds ok with it. This won't last long, he knows. "No, Dash, y-you don't understand. It's…big."

Dash is quiet for a beat, "If you're not ready to tell me, you don't have to, you know. Though you've gotten me curios now." The last part ends with a strained chuckle. Dash is getting worried, Danny feels the hand on his shoulder leave.

Danny sits up, his anxiety moving for him. His back faces Dash. "No, it has to be tonight. I can't do it anymore. You need to know. And, and if you hate me for it," Danny's grips the quilt, "Then I understand." And it's the truth. What would he do if the person he has gotten to know and care about was someone else entirely? It is too hopeful a thought to entertain the idea Dash would even talk to him later, let alone hold him like this again.

Dash doesn't move or speak, and Danny finally looks his way again. Dash seems to be done with lightening the mood Danny continues to bring down. He face is set and concerned, like he is getting bad news from the doctor about a loved one.

Dash nods, "Ok. Tell me, then."

Danny stiffly nods, and works to move his body to face Dash fully. He sits on his knees in his baggy black pants. Dash wears full winter pyjamas. Probably because Danny is so cold, but whenever Danny askes he always insists it's fine.

Danny is going to miss these nights. When they get together, talk, watch movies, relax. Danny always found it kind of sappy, but knowing Dash's love for romance movies, Dash must be in heaven.

"I…" Danny looks at the bed, completely defeating the purpose of turning to Dash in the first place, but he can't help it. He realises then that he has never actually told anybody this secret. Ever. Sam and Tucker where at the accident, and Jazz and Vlad found out because he was carless. The ghosts know because the dead just love to gossip.

He has planned to tell his parents in his head many times, but the conversation, both the body of it and the outcome, change every time. Some of the scenarios give him the opposite of what he wants and hopes for, only fuelling his fears. Danny tries to re-enact one of the good ones, and starts.

"So, I have been keeping something important from you, about me, and I just need to say I'm sorry." Danny looks up briefly. Dash is giving Danny his full attention. "I didn't mean for things to go this far, really." His heart, something a ghost shouldn't have, beats too fast, "T-The truth is, I-I'm not really a full, um, ghost."

He knows this explanation is much too vague. Not even his parents, the scientists, would know what he would be trying to get at. But he wants this to go slowly. Too slowly, maybe.

Dash takes his hand and rubs the sleep out of his eye, "Um, I don't get it." He says after a while, and of course he doesn't. "You're…not a ghost?" Danny first nods, but then shakes his head.

"Well, I am, I guess." His mournful stare at the mattress is becoming frustrated. Now he just wants the words to come out. Now he wants the conversation to be over, but his mind is racing and yet stalled as to what to say next. "But I am…um, more. I, I- Jesus Christ." He cruses, and rubs his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, I'm just scared, I-I've never done this before."

He suddenly takes one of Dash's hands in his, firmly, and looks to him, "I'm not the person you think I am, I mean, I am, just not what you think I am. I have lied to you, but I really do like comic books and, and I love space and rockets and horror movies and video games. And, you. I didn't lie about any of that." His words are just falling out now, desperate for a good outcome in a situation he never wanted, but saw coming. The hand on Dash's is tight.

Dash, shocked, can do nothing but grip back, as if reassuring. He nods, "Ok, ok I believe you, Danny. Just…what do you want to tell me?"

Danny takes in a breath. He lets it out. He loosens his grip on Dash's hesitantly, slightly embarrassed about his earlier display.

Now, he thinks, he knows. No more charades, no more hiding, or lying. But possibly, no more Dash.

But he hasn't run out yet. He has been concerned with Danny, not angry. Danny has hope.

Danny looks at his face, and sees him flinch abruptly at the sudden white ring of light around Danny's waist. Dash's hand moves away from his as this ring splits into two, each making their own way over Danny's body.

He has never seen his own transformation. He only feels it; the cold retreating into his form; the power over his skin trickling away to be bottled up inside when needed; the slow return of the laws of gravity to weigh his shoulders down. The unnatural tingling of a ghost becoming a human is so natural to him. He knows his eyes turn blue and his hair turns black and his skin becomes paler, but as he forces himself to look at Dash's face, he feels like he is truly seeing it for the first time.

He feels like a freak.

Dash's eyes never leave, although the bright light has him squinting. He doesn't dear to blink. The white halo splits, and he follows it. Danny knows he should be seeing his T-shirt now, white with a red circle, he can feel the material touching his skin where it wasn't before, and Dash should see the top of his blue jeans. Dash's face shows confusion, maybe trying to place where he had seen this before, maybe still trying to work out what is going on. Each is entirely possible.

By the time the ring is past Danny's face and finishing at his hair and shoes, Dash's face changes dramatically, and it has Danny's stomach do flips, his heart ache, and he wishes he could do this over. He wishes he could start again, like in his imaginary conversations. This isn't a good outcome.

Dash looks horrified.

Danny isn't given time to say anything. As soon as the light vanishes, Dash grips his side of the quilt and throws it away from him. He looks ready to leap out of bed, so Danny grabs his shoulder.

"W-Wait, I-" Danny doesn't know what to say, and he says no more when Dash swats his hand away. That may as well have been a punch to the gut, and Danny stays still as Dash scurries out of bed, panicked.

Now standing, Dash doesn't seem to know what to do. He is breathing hard, "Y-You, I, what the fuck?!" He cries, more so to the ground he is staring at than Danny as he fidgets and paces left to right to left. He still doesn't sound angry, Danny idly registers. More scared, shocked, and Dash grips his blond hair.

Danny stays kneeling on the bed, gritting his teeth as his feelings become painful and muddled in his chest. Maybe Dash will calm down, maybe they can still talk about this. But Dash suddenly shakes his head, and grabs his coat from the back of the hotel desk chair and the room key. He grabs nothing else, not the rest of his folded cloths, nor the movies they had been watching, and, to Danny's dismay, he storms to the door.

Dash opens it, coat in hand, and seems to be hesitant for just a second. But he doesn't look back to Danny, doesn't say a parting word, and swiftly walks out into the bright hallway, leaving the door to slowly close on its own.

Danny doesn't know how long after Dash's departure he stays there. He is looking down over his human hands, and only when drops fall lightly atop them does he know he is crying. He puts a hand over his mouth when a sob racks his body.

Dash left.

But it isn't Dash's fault. It's his.

All his.

It get happier i swear. Dash isn't a total dick for walking out. I think.

I hope you liked it! Please tell me if you did! And if you didn't, please tell me what i need to look at!